Wonderland
by Twentee Nyne
Summary: Here is one of my Tales of Symphonia blurbs. This was a birthday present for a friend of mine last year. She really enjoys the darker type of writing. Really, though, who could pass up a good dark piece? Also, this deviates from the canon plot line.


_Somewhere in the distance, a voice chuckled._

Kratos Aurion hated few things. He hated a select few people, and he hated a particular platter of foods, but there were more things that he only extremely disliked. Kratos Aurion extremely disliked the snow.

It was cold, wet, and induced such a shortness of breath that Kratos could hardly even take a few steps without experiencing a strong desire for a warm blanket and something soothing to drink. It wasn't as if he could take a few easy steps anyhow, considering how the pathways were concealed beneath the blanket and direction was skewed by the cloudy sky. He was lucky to find locations where snow never touched the atmosphere. Despite those desert-like and snow-free places, Kratos could never remain in them for too long. He had a family and a life that rose above the dislike for frozen rain.

His boots were lost in the knee-deep snow that had heralded in the winter season at the lands of Sylvarant. Of course, the snow had not layered every continent of Sylvarant, but Iselia was not entirely foreign to obtaining a soft, crystalline sheet of the billowy ivory. Kratos Aurion could account for a multitude of years that snow accompanied the bitter temperatures. Then again, Kratos was nearly four thousand years of age. Compared to the six years that his son had put under his little belt, Kratos had seen and experienced more important events than a snowfall in Iselia. The frosty air chilled Kratos' lungs as he inhaled deeply. The only positive attribute about the snow was how pristine and sincere it fell and accumulated. Nothing but a footprint could disturb that shining coverlet on top of the grass beds. It must've been a trick with the color of the snow, but disregarding contemplation, it almost seemed like the sun shone brighter when the snow took control of land.

He didn't move his feet as snow began to fall in around them. They were surprisingly warm, an awkward side-effect of being wrapped in snow, although he knew well enough that soon he would be wishing for that blanket and soothing drink again. It was a yearning that he had long learned to quell before it became too intense. The mercenary and Four Seraphim member had lived to endure worse conditions, and that was when he was without company. This time was different. This time, he had-

"Hahaha!"

The laughter was the last thing that broke his train of thought. The first was a crafted sphere of packed snow that collided with Kratos' abdomen. The projectile had fallen short of the desired target -- most presumably Kratos' head -- but the effect was enough to warrant a satisfactory laugh and skip from its cause. The small boy rattled with chuckles as he hopped about in the snow. He almost couldn't walk through the snow that reached nearly up to his waist. It was easier and more entertaining for the little boy to hop and dive about in the chilly powder, and that was made evident with all the snow that moistened his hair and clothing. His cheeks and nose were flushed to a pinkish red while puffs of foggy breath rolled out of his giggling lips. He was the only one that was laughing, but he knew well enough what face his father made when he was attempting to hide his enjoyment. Kratos' chest heaved and his head sagged, arms folding at his chest while he loosened his feet from their snowy encasements. It was no effort to hide his eyes, but when it came to hiding the emotion in them, his son was the master at divulging exactly what was going on.

"I got you, Daddy!" the little boy chirped and clapped his hands together. In the next instant he had his mitten-hidden hands back into the snow and was beginning to shape another ball of snow. His hands were only just beginning to dust off the layers of snow when his vision went white and his body collapsed under the weight of a barrage of snowfall. The main of his body was swimming in the frozen wonderland while his hands, feet, and head protruded out from beneath the snowy depths. Snow bits spit from his mouth while he shook his head the best he could, and it wasn't long before more laughter began to emit from the boy's mouth. Kratos' grin could not be any more genuine. His hands were outstretched, but they soon refolded against his chest.

"I got you back, Lloyd," Kratos said with a voice that could have melted the snow beneath him. It was smooth and articulate, yet not without the eager anticipation of always being aware of his surroundings. His eyes did not leave his son's struggling body for a minute. Lloyd, on the other hand, shifted his gaze wildly in an attempt to find something to lever himself out of the snowy wrap. The only thing that he could grasp in his small hands was more snow, of which did nothing to help his case, and soon his laughter died down to frustrated grunts.

"Dad, I'm stuck! How do I get out?" Lloyd asked with a strained tone of voice. His big brown eyes rolled over to his father, pleading for his aid. Kratos shook his head and crunched over to his son, bending at his knees with his face hovering over the smaller boy's face. The grin had yet to disappear.

"Maybe I'll just leave you here. Then I wouldn't have to buy anymore chocolate to put in your hot milk. Maybe your mother and I will take a little vacation. The beach sounds pretty nice," Kratos mused playfully. He was kidding with Lloyd, but he was also kidding himself. The only time that he would ever see the beach is if his game of pursuit sent him there, and it would be anything but a vacation. However, that was for the adults to worry about. Kratos only prayed that each day Lloyd would remain blissfully ignorant of the world that threatened to destroy his life.

"Nu-uh! You won't leave me here. Right? You won't leave me, right? Don't leave me! I'll have to teach you a lesson if you leave me!" Lloyd's seemingly detached fists curled in sync with growls that rolled off his tongue. He tried to appear as ferocious as he could, but his little boy features, high-pitched voice, and ridiculous situation did nothing to help his case. Kratos chuckled at his son.

"Oh, I don't think I could handle another one of your lessons. The last one was so brutal! Perhaps I can just dig you out like a potato and we can talk this over man to man?" the father proposed to his son. Lloyd bought into the charade without delay. Immediately his features shifted. He furrowed his brow and raised his chin, trying to act mature and grown-up. Kratos barely suppressed another light-hearted chuckle. He plowed his hands beneath where Lloyd's body would be if he were on top of the snow. Soon enough, Kratos' hands and Lloyd's small frame were unearthed from the snow, and the frosty powder showered the proximity in a short-lived waterfall. Lloyd's grown up features dissipated with the snowfall, and his childish laughter reappeared without fault.

"Hooray!" Lloyd cheered. "Now we can talk, man to man," he stumbled over his words like any other child learning to speak.

Kratos immediately regretted his decision to use those words. He was a man. He had lived through war, love, friendship and enemies. Lloyd was a child; _his_ child. Lloyd was Kratos' young boy who would have been better off having any other father but himself. Kratos heard a little boy laughing. He could smell the sweets that a little boy would love to eat. He could even feel the softness of a little boy's comfortable clothes. But, when Kratos looked at Lloyd, he saw nothing but a young man with more troubles than he deserved.

"We should start for home, Lloyd. Your mother will be worried," Kratos spoke with dejection in his voice that was not entirely false. He was not lying; Anna would be wondering where her two men were (he caught himself saying "man" again.) However, Kratos failed to spark up the notion that he desired to depart from not only the snow, but from the conversation that was beginning to bloom. It would just be another nick to add to his belt of avoided conversations. Much to his dismay, however, Lloyd did not immediately protest. He did not stand up, either, but remained exactly as he was. The snow still dotted his body and face, and his nose was beginning to redden even more than before. The only difference in his behavior appeared in the sparkle of his eyes. That sparkle was always there, always sparkling. At the moment, however, the sparkle was dull and quizzical. It was not the sort of quizzical that suggested that Lloyd was trying to puzzle out how many cookies he could have if there were six cookies to split between three people. It was the sort of wondering bewilderment seeded deep in his mind close to his heart. Lloyd shifted a fraction, snuggling closer to Kratos and fidgeting his fingers before him.

"Dad?" he spoke after lengthy moments of serene silence.

"What's the matter, Lloyd?" Kratos returned the rhetorical acknowledgement with his own concerned question. Lloyd took another few moments of silence to put together his words and feelings. Rarely did a man ponder his feelings; rarely did a young boy worry about his manly reputation.

"How does the snow come?" Lloyd finally asked.

"What do you mean?" Kratos questioned once more. His legs had given in to the strain and folded beneath him. The mercenary was lying on his side, one arm lightly wrapped about his son's frame.

"I mean, where does the snow come from? I go to bed at night and it's all grassy outside, and then I wake up, and there's no grass at all, and everything is all snowy. Who covers the ground with snow in just one night?" Lloyd elaborated. A light twang reverberated almost soundlessly upon the atmosphere, only buzzing across Kratos' ears.

"Well," Kratos caught his breath and took in a deep portion of the icy air, "when you're asleep, there's a man named . . . Yuan. He's a very shy man, so he only shows himself when it's dark and everybody is asleep. But, he feels very guilty about not being able to show himself despite his love for people, especially children. So, when the air gets really cold, and you snuggle into your bed on a chilly night," Kratos breathed deeply again, "Yuan hurries out into the night and spreads a lot of white snow for every eye to see. But, he only gives snow to the kids who are good during all of the warmer seasons." Kratos' words were slowing, and his voice was beginning to lower. He swept his hand beneath Lloyd's shoulders and hugged the small boy closer to him. "If you're always good, Yuan will always bring you snow when you're feeling sad. He'll always look after you when you need guidance. If you're good," Kratos paused, "Yuan will always be there for you."

Kratos' eyes were beginning to flutter. He could feel a heavy sensation pull at his lids and ricochet in the pit of his stomach. He was most conscious of the warm, soft body cuddled up in the crook of his arm. It was no surprise that the little boy fit perfectly in his father's grasp, like one puzzle piece to another. Things were slowing down in both the father and son's eyes.

"That sounds really nice, Daddy. I wonder if I'll ever meet Yuan. Maybe if I'm extra good . . ." Lloyd trailed off. His eyes had moved up to look into Kratos' face, but it was futile. Kratos' eyes closed, and his breathing was delayed, irregular, and deep. Lloyd scrambled against the tough grip that Kratos had around his back, eventually slipping free and being able to stand over his father. Kratos' body limped without the support of Lloyd on his arm, and his other hand was tucked away unseen beneath his coat. Sleep would've been the first choice to reason out why the man was lying so placidly in the midst of a winter-laden field. Once again, however, Lloyd was the first to illustrate his ability of reading his father's troubles.

"Daddy?"

Lloyd cooed, eyes not bothering to unlock from his father's expressionless face. The thin shaft speckled with maroon droplets went unnoticed.

"Daddy, it's time to go home, right? Let's go home. Mommy wants to see us."

Lloyd crawled onto Kratos' lap.

"Can you make me some hot milk with chocolate? It's cold, Daddy. I want to go home."

Lloyd laid his head down on Kratos' upper chest. No resounding thump quaked in his ears.

"It's cold, Daddy. It's really cold."

Lloyd's arms dangled off of Kratos' slowly freezing sides.

"Daddy, it's cold."

_Somewhere in the distance, a voice chuckled._


End file.
